Confusion
by orangish
Summary: Derek never knows what to do, think, or feel about Hotch. Morgan/Hotch, oneshot


**.confusion. **

**derek morgan/aaron hotchner**

Aaron Hotchner and Derek Morgan were two alpha wolves who liked having their way.

That was Derek's analogy, anyway.

He didn't question or try to change it. He wondered if Hotch ever noticed it. Hotch would forever be the more dominant one—he was calm and cool-headed where Derek was not; Derek had accepted it. After all, he was usually the one who started the clashes and conflicts.

He'd realised the tension between them was always present in the BAU, even if he tried to cover it up with fun group activities and team victory dinners out, like how a toddler would hide after stealing cookies from the cookie jar. Strained relationships were always painfully obvious, no matter how little the matter was, to the team. They were profilers, in spite of everything.

Pretty Boy was the first to notice.

Derek wasn't surprised; he and Reid were so close, Derek being a bigger brother, and Reid, with the brilliant mind he had, was bound to observe that when Hotch was around, Derek always fidgeted, or his jaw would tighten or muscles tense.

While Derek was laughing and ruffling Reid's hair one day, Reid had stopped him and gazed at him in the eyes. His young face seemed to have aged a couple of years with the concerned frown on his lips.

"You should talk to Hotch," he'd said matter-of-factly, and Derek's smile lost some of its mirth in response.

"You need to figure this out before it gets out of hand."

Then Derek had looked at Reid, reached out a hand and playfully flicked Reid's forehead, and replied, with bright amusement, "Dunno what you're talkin' 'bout, Genius."

Gideon, of course, was second.

Smart and wise, Gideon was. And Derek hated it, at this point, after he'd raised his voice in a group meeting, just a bit, when compromising something with Hotch. It was just normal, wasn't it? Getting a bit heated? Then for the remainder of the meeting, Derek occasionally found himself the subject of Hotch's stare, startled to find an intensity that, despite his resentment, made his insides writhe in a pleasant way. It made Derek fear Hotch yet respect him, much to his reluctance.

Gideon was walking in the hallway behind Derek and clearly stated, "You need to clear this up," before turning into the elevator, disappearing, even though the coffee room was just one flight of stairs down. Derek knew Gideon had left him so he could mull over what he'd said. And Derek knew Gideon was right, and he knew Gideon knew it.

(On the way down the stairs, Derek punched the wall.)

The pressure between them grew every day, Derek had found. The air around them was thick, and he wanted to scream—it felt like they were an elastic band being stretched so, so far, and he knew that there would be an inevitable time where the band would snap.

Penelope Garcia was last to realise—Derek had a feeling J.J. and Prentiss had known for some time.

Garcia was too wonderfully oblivious to the world to notice for the most part, but after one case Derek nearly launched into a full-fledged fight—he'd butted heads with Hotch about the state of a victim yet again, and of course, Hotch won again. Hotch was always correct, and Derek hated—and admired—him for it.

Despite the case ending successfully, Derek still clenched his jaw and narrowed his eyes at his boss, fingers trembling. He realised he'd been in Hotch's personal space for the bulk of the argument, and retreated, the smell of Hotch's cologne and sweat following Derek as he stormed out of the BAU doors. The scent made his stomach twist again, like how Hotch's forceful stare did that time in the meeting. His heart, perhaps, beat a bit faster.

He was sure even Garcia would realise by then, and she did. She texted him later that night.

_hey derek?_

_**yeah baby girl? :)**_

_serious text time! … I dont wanna lose you_

_**who would? haha. Whats makin you say that?**_

_i dont wanna see you moving either_

_**what do you mean?**_

_Youre gonna have to transfer if this keeps up_

_**what?**_

_derek you know what im talking about . go talk to hotch, please?_

Derek distinctly remembers pausing for about a minute, unsure of how to respond.

_**Idk what you're on bout, girl**_

_Talk. to. Hotch. please dont lie to me_

_**I would never, Penelope. dont worry. see you tmr :* **_

And with that, Derek turned his phone off and proceeded to throw it across the room, fists clenched (he didn't have a wall to punch). If even Garcia noticed, sweet, innocent—well, most of the time—Garcia, there was a problem.

What Garcia said was right, as much as Derek didn't like it. If he kept arguing with Hotch, Strauss might find it a threat to the team and ship him off to another division—Hotch was too important. And Derek was deathly afraid of being transferred; he loved what he did, where he was. He loved his team. Loved Pretty Boy. Loved Doll Face. Loved J.J., loved Emily, loved Gideon.

Loved Hotch.

The prospect of being transferred had Derek reeling with confusion, especially over Hotch. The worry grew as he flipped the notion over and over in his mind, late into the night. He was always irritated with Hotch, felt bitter about having him around, but being Hotch-less was too terrifying; the idea made his mind recoil. Not seeing Hotch every day? Not _arguing _with him anymore? The very thought was ridiculous. If Derek went to another team, where would all the fear and respect that he'd built up toward someone else go? No one else could meet that.

At one twenty-four in the morning was when all the thinking Derek had done caused him to reach an epiphany, but one that he was scared of.

It caused the elastic band to snap.

He climbed out of bed and crawled across the neat carpet in the dark in just his sweats and fumbled around for his Blackberry he'd flung at the wall earlier. Finally locating it, he pressed it and was relieved to find it still worked. There was a crack in the screen, but it still worked.

After punching in Hotch's cell number into the _To _box, his fingers hovered over the glow-in-the-dark keyboard, as his heartbeat sped up. He ran a hand over his head: what to say, what to say? He could always talk to him tomorrow, but Derek felt compelled to say something at that moment. It was one thirty now—surely Hotch hadn't fallen asleep yet? Probably still up doing paperwork anyway.

_**Hotch im really sorry for how ive acted today & please can I talk to you tmr, 1 on 1?**_

Derek held his breath, reread over the message a few times, and pressed Send, before tossing the phone on his bedside table. Sighing, he pulled himself up on the bed and burrowed into his covers, eyes on the phone, its screen still lit, for any sign of response.

Five minutes, ten minutes… Derek's eyes felt as if there were weights on them, his breathing had slowed, and eventually, he was on the brink of sleep when the phone vibrated on the wooden table. Jumping, Derek sat bolt upright and snatched it, the phone almost slipping from his fingers, and opened the message, his sleep-fogged mind beginning to clear.

_I understand. And of course._

Derek fell back onto his covers in contentment and read over the text over and over again. He could imagine Hotch's composed and deep voice saying that, and that brought his distracted mind down back to peace. He continued running the words and the thought of Hotch's voice repeatedly in his head until he fell into the first six hours of solid, dreamless rest he had had in a long time.

* * *

Derek pushed open the door of the building, his suitcase in his hand. He felt better than he did in weeks, yet was still in need of some coffee. Reid was already here, hard at work at his desk. Garcia was holed up in her lab somewhere, and Prentiss was getting coffee for her and J.J. Gideon was napping on the couch. Derek could see Hotch up in his office, bent over some paperwork.

Mumbling a sleepy good morning to everybody, Derek dropped off his things at his office and made his way over to Hotch's door. He knocked shortly, and through the blinds he could see Hotch look up. Derek smiled faintly at him and Hotch nodded at him.

He entered, closing the door behind him, before sitting down at a chair at the side of the room.

"You wanted to talk to me?" Hotch said, closing his folder and turning his full attention to Derek. Derek squirmed in his seat; he was having second thoughts about talking to him now.

"I wanted to say I'm sorry," Derek started out carefully, but stopped when he found that Hotch was gazing at him with a sort of amused exasperation. His stare was still as concentrated as ever, leaving behind a shivering Derek.

"What do you really want to say?" Hotch asked, shifting his weight in the chair. _Damn_, Derek thought, _figured me out already_.

Derek was quiet for at least five minutes; the silence was stifling.

He had no idea how to tell Hotch that he _needed_ him, that Hotch was someone who kept him sane. Their constant arguments brought Derek back to reality. No, it wasn't smart to rely on a person—they can always change—but in Derek's case he _wanted_ to trust that he could completely fall on Hotch, because he had already fallen _for_ Hotch.

He had fallen for Aaron Hotchner.

Derek was a straight forward guy, yet somehow he was finding it extremely difficult to convey what he felt to this man.

Derek finally looked up from his lap to realise Hotch was studying him intently.

Taking a deep breath and squaring his shoulders, he thought, _screw it, then_, as he saw Gideon coming up the stairs. He wouldn't have this chance again. He stood up and strode over to Hotch.

"I've realised the only reason I keep disagreeing with everything you say is because if I don't, I'm gonna go insane, I'm gonna go mad if I don't see you every day, and then now I know I _need_ you, and I just wanted to let you know that because you have the right to know and I can't keep hanging around without knowing that you know that…"

Derek paused to take a breath—his voice had risen.

"…that I love you, Aaron H—"

Hotch got up and pressed his lips against his.

Derek nearly fell back with surprise. The feel of Hotch's lips was now permanently seared into his brain. Eyes wide as plates, he stared in astonishment at Hotch. His eyes were darker than Derek had ever seen them. Adrenaline coursed through Derek's veins as he felt the urge to pounce on Hotch, aim for his neck, pin him down on the desk, make him _his_, like a wolf would, but reined in his raging hormones as the door behind him opened with a soft click.

Whirling around, Derek backed away from Hotch. Gideon stood in the doorway, face completely neutral, but Derek was sure his mouth twitched in a smile.

Derek swore in his head as Gideon coughed. He was _aching_ for Hotch. He looked back at the man, who looked as still and calm as ever.

"Yes, Gideon?" Hotch asked professionally, moving forward towards Gideon, brushing Derek's shoulder as he went. "You may go, Morgan."

Derek cleared his throat and nodded awkwardly before quickly moving out of the room, pulling the door shut behind him. Peering through the blinds, he could see Gideon talking to Hotch, most likely about the case briefing they were going to at ten.

Jogging down the steps, Derek ducked out of the vicinity and down into the stairwell, exhaling deeply. His lips were burning where Hotch had kissed them. He rubbed his hands over his arms, goosebumps rising as he recalled the kiss.

The doors above him opened, making Derek jump. He didn't need to look to see who it was.

Hotch made his way down the stairs and stood at the last step. Derek could feel his eyes on his back. Turning around, he smiled feebly.

"Hi," Hotch said quietly, voice husky.

He was already halfway toward him when Derek hurried forward and collided with him, lips meshing together.

"You took a long time," Hotch muttered into his lips. "_I_ was going to go insane if you took any longer."

Derek only shut his eyes, ran his fingers through Hotch's short dark hair, and kissed him harder.

* * *

**sexual tension? haha. hope you enjoyed that and that it wasn't too confusing! don't forget to drop a review or a favourite! :)**


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